


The Party

by mystery_deer



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Crushes, Greg Lestrade is a Good Friend, M/M, Mycroft Holmes Has Feelings, Teen Greg Lestrade, Teen Mycroft, Teen Mycroft Holmes/Teen Greg Lestrade, mystrade, they aren't dating in this fic but mycroft has a cruuush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-13
Updated: 2019-06-13
Packaged: 2020-05-07 09:11:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19206319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mystery_deer/pseuds/mystery_deer
Summary: Mycroft Holmes is positive that he will do nothing but be bored and schmooze at his parents' benefit.Enter Greg Lestrade.





	The Party

Mycroft stood still at his mother fussed with his clothes and hair, making several checks and re-checks in a frenzied way that gave them both anxiety. 

“This fit last month...did you put on weight?” She asked, then kissed the sting of her insult away. “My little bear cub.” Mycroft resisted the urge to wipe his cheek and instead stared passively forward. She smiled. 

“Come now, and try not to stand in the corner like a wallflower.” Being with his mother was uncomfortable. She lumped them in together so close one moment that her rejections the next moment always felt viscerally painful. “You’re a handsome young man, I’m sure you’ll find that if you open a bit your peers will see that.” He was always waiting for the other shoe to drop.  
“Yes, Mother.” And then, so not to be accused of being dismissive, “I’ll try.”

The party was a benefit, something his father was throwing to show off his house and family. While the mansion was normally so devoid of life that Mycroft had once gone a full week without seeing either his parents or brother (the latter of which was more concerning), it had been (through the effort of many maids) reformed into a warm and cheerful home. The chandeliers which normally gave off a pale white light now shone a rich yellow and the mirrors which were often covered in dust now sparkled. In fact, everything seemed to sparkle. 

It hurt his eyes and he was glad that Sherlock was asleep or at least content to pretend to be asleep in his room. Often at parties his anxiety stemmed not only from the pressure to interact well with others but also the constant worry that his brother would act out of turn. Today he had only one anxiety to plague him, wonderful.

“Speak of the devil!” His father raised his arms jovially and his mother took her place nestled beside him.  
“I do hope he hasn’t been calling me a devil all evening?” His mother asked, widening her eyes and clutching her pearls. “If anything he’s the one most worthy of the title, devilishly handsome~” She pressed a kiss to his cheek and Mycroft watched her in awe, she always knew how to perform, to entertain. No wonder she was so disappointed in her children who drew attention clumsily or not at all.

“And who’s this?”  
“My eldest, Mycroft.” At his father’s mention Mycroft straightened up and his mother placed a hand on his shoulder, now they were all connected, a perfect chain. “He’s smart as his mother, they both are. Mycroft, tell the Barton’s about your award.”

Mycroft launched into a short speech about his award, which he’d gotten for being top of his class for four years running. It had also doubled as a target on his back and he’d barely managed to get it home while avoiding being beaten to a pulp. He didn’t mention this however, he assumed it would be in poor taste.  
When he finished he dismissed himself with a soft “If you’ll excuse me?” and left when granted permission, his purpose fulfilled. 

There was truly nothing much to do at these events if he wasn’t being called over to brag. His father’s colleagues either didn’t have children or didn’t bring them to these events, which he was sure his parents wished they had the luxury to do. He wished he could be banished to his room like Sherlock, maybe he should act wild...be an absolute monster. 

He took a profiterole and popped it in his mouth whole, feeling sick from the sugar. It quelled his anger and he took another one, checking to see if he was being watched. Both of his parents were enthralled by whatever conversation was taking place and secure in his assertion that he wouldn’t be called again for some time, he left to solitude of the back garden.

When outside the noise of the party had quieted to a muffled, quiet affair. The wind was cool and he could hear birds and frogs calling out to each other. He was attempting to identify them by species (which even he acknowledged was a bit of a low for him socially) when he was interrupted. “Hey, are you uh..Mycroft?”

He turned. The rude interruption was a boy around his age with hair that was rebelling hard against being gelled down. Mycroft observed his second-hand button up, his too-large blazer and his shoes that clunked on the wood of the deck. He wondered how he’d gotten in.  
“Yes.” He said, making it clear that he was looking upon him in disapproval. “You are?”

“Greg.” He said, making it clear that he was wholly willing to soldier on further into this interaction. “My parents told me to say hi to you.”  
“And you actually did it? I admire your dedication.” Greg smiled and Mycroft took care not to.  
“Sorry, am I bothering you?” He asked and Mycroft sighed.  
“No, I apologize for my rudeness. It’s not you who I’m angry with.”  
“Oh.”

Greg hoisted himself up onto the railing and kicked his feet, the motion familiar. Mycroft noticed several bruises and bandaids.  
“Do you play football?” He asked, apparently hitting the nail on the head as the other’s face lit up.  
“Yeah! I’m great at tackling. My dad said if I keep playing I could get a scholarship to any school I want.”  
“Who’s your father?”  
“Um, he’s not here right now. He’s inside. He was talking to your dad and he wanted to make a good impression since he’s new so he told me to scram.” Mentally Mycroft placed him as Lestrade, a new hire in his father’s company that he’d only heard about once or twice. His father mentioned him twice as ‘new blood’ which was worrying.

“You know, I can totally tell you’re a Holmes.” Mycroft leaned against the banister, continuing to stare out into the night.  
“Yes, it’s generally easy to tell who the host of a party is as they’re often most comfortable in the house but also the most anxious.” He said, knowing that this was not the response he was being led to.

Greg took this in stride by plowing on with what he wanted to say. “You all look at me and cringe. Your mom and dad did it too.”  
“And my cat would do it as well if she were here. Your clothing...stands out.”  
“It’s my father’s jacket and these are shoes to grow into. Sorry I’m not used to being a snob~”  
“I..I would take care that father doesn’t hear you.”  
“Father?” Greg asked in disbelief. “What year is this?” Mycroft smiled slightly but didn’t look at the boy until he spoke again a few minutes later.

“What were you mad about?” Mycroft hummed quizzically. “You said someone made you mad earlier?”  
“Oh, my girlfriend.” Mycroft lied smoothly. Greg barked in laughter.  
“YOU have a girlfriend?” He cried, laughing so hard that Mycroft turned to him just in case he fell and required an audience to his subsequent embarrassment.  
“Well, she’s not my girlfriend. She’s a friend and I like her but I don’t know if she likes me.” He adjusted, mimicking a plot to a movie trailer he’d seen some time ago.

“Well, let me help! I have four sisters, I can definitely tell you if she likes you or not.”  
“Ah.” He should just leave, just turn around and leave well enough alone but there was something in him that wanted nothing more than to stay planted here and try at being normal.

“Well, she and I have known each other for a long time and I cannot for the life of me tell if she’s being friendly with me or if she’s flirting.” He began, pulling details out of thin air and lining them up. It was calming, he was sure that indicated something unflattering about him.  
“Sometimes when we’re walking she’ll hold my arm or when we’re sitting together she’ll position her legs over mine.”

“Sounds like she likes you!”  
“That’s what I thought, but just this afternoon we got into argument. We were hanging out with our friends-” He was amazed Greg didn’t laugh at that line, he certainly would have if he weren’t consciously trying not to. “- and one of them, Yardsley, began asking if we were a couple and she became incensed. After they began arguing I suggested we talk about something else and she accused me of not sticking up for her. She left after that.”

Mycroft sighed under the grief of the situation. “I just...I feel angry with myself for not standing up for her as much as I could have but I was also hurt that she was so angered at the thought of being with me.” He began to feel legitimately sad as his self-image problems crept to the surface, wonderful. “I just feel like I’ve failed on all fronts today.”

“You didn’t fail! You just wanted to be friendly and fair to everyone. Yeardsley sounds like he was being a dick and your girlfriend or whoever sounds like she overreacted, but it also sounds like it could have been an honest question or maybe Yoursley and her have a history, you know? You did the best you could.”  
“Yes, just like how you did the best you could with Yardsley’s name.”  
“It’s a stupid name.” Mycroft burst into laughter, loud and short in the silence of the back garden.  
“Yes!” He agrees, doubled over. “It is a very stupid name.” Greg joins in this laughter and Mycroft feels something inside him adjust itself minutely. It feels like perhaps something has loosened, been made freer.  
“Perhaps we-”

The sliding door was opened by his mother at that moment and it was as if the air had been sucked out of everything. She looked the two of them over coldly before smiling. “Gregory, your father has been looking for you!” She chided gently, ushering the two of them in. “And Mycroft come here, I want to talk to you.” The two of them followed his mother to the living room, where Mycroft’s father was standing and regaling guests with a tale of some exploit or another. One of the men gestured Greg over and he obeyed, waving to Mycroft as he went. Mycroft waved back as he was dragged by his mother to another room. 

“I’m glad to see you making friends.” She said, in a tone that conveyed the opposite. “Next time do you think you could- oh!” She tore her hand away from Mycroft, her fussing cut short. Horrified, she stared at her white glove which was covered in the melted remains of a profiterole he’d placed in there with the intent to eat it before he’d been interrupted.  
His heart beat so fast it pained him. 

“Mother-”  
“What is this.” He stayed quiet, debating whether or not to speak up. Was this a rhetorical question? Would she- “What IS this?” She repeated, hissing so as not to shout.  
“It’s...I’m sorry.”  
“I didn’t ask if you were sorry. I asked-”

“Mycroft!” They both turned to see Greg, looking jovial as ever, standing in the doorway. “Hey, I have to leave so I wanted to say goodbye!” Glad for the intrusion, Mycroft walked over to the boy and held out his hand to shake.  
Greg used the hand to pull him into a hug. “I hope we get to talk again, tell me how it works out!”  
“I’ll walk you to the door.” Mycroft offered, taking care not to look back into the eyes that were boring into the back of his head.  
“What a gentleman~” Greg teased.

When they reached the door Mycroft smiled and gave a polite ‘goodbye’ to the Lestrades, turning to go when Greg called out.  
“If she doesn’t like you then I can introduce you to some real girls!” Mycroft raised an eyebrow, apparently caught. He called back, undeterred. 

“Is it one of your sisters? I won’t put up with sly attempts to marry into my family GREGORY!”  
“Yeah right, I’d rather marry YOU than have you date one of my sisters!” And with that he was gone, rushing down the driveway to meet up with his parents. 

Recognizing his opportunity, Mycroft quickly made his way upstairs and into his bedroom, closing the door softly.  
Immediately Sherlock knocked on his wall in Morse code. ‘Is it over?’ to which Mycroft exhaustedly responded. ‘No. Sleep.’ Hearing nothing back he finally changed into pajamas and collapsed onto his bed. He would tell his father that he had eaten something off if he was asked where he’d gone. He would…

He closed his eyes and thought of the boy he’d met. Greg Lestrade, what a peculiar character...He hadn’t known that people could radiate, hadn’t known that laughter could spark something inside of someone.  
He hadn’t known that the thought of marriage, of a future, could fill him with anything but anxiety and dread. 

He hadn’t known that a person could be made of light.


End file.
